A loud ripping noise happened as we entered the black hole. My clothes flapped away as coarse brown fur began to sprout from my forearms. Otter grasped my paw and whispered the opening sentences of the Da Vinci Code backwards. We were traveling inside a gelatinous hexagon of infinite formlessness, seconds peeling away from our consciousness like tattered strips of sunburned skin. And then all at once, a dark ridge of bone appeared in the distance, enveloped in a hazy cloud of atmospheric gas.
I tried to make words and realized I had lost the power of speech. My tongue felt stiff and confused in my mouth. We saw the ridge and then suddenly we were on it, a damp cold mist clinging to our fur. “Who’s dream is this?” I tried to ask. “This is the 29th parallel,” said Otter simply, somehow understanding the clipped barking noises coming from my face. “You have been granted temporary asylum from the present.” Otter continued: “Look over there.” He gestured to a roiling pit of black sulfur I hadn’t noticed before. “That is your reality,” Otter laughed. I stared into the depths, and started to sweat.
Here at kaye, we love all things food and also things that smell like food! Each week we go through millions of recipes to find ones that are tantalizing and easy to follow. Lately we've stumbled upon lots of recipes calling for a "knob of butter." For inexperienced cooks, or regular people who just want to know how much fucking butter is in a recipe, this can be a challenge.
Close your eyes and picture a two dimensional dreamscape devoid of oxygen where gravity is 4x what it is on Earth. Now take away the oxygen and insert towering structures made of bleached bones and tiny mirrored cubes. This was my Otter’s dreamscape, and along the crumbling blood-blackened paths we have walked together.
I met my Otter in late 2016, as the world was ending and our days were beginning to turn into a hellish gauntlet of hateful ideas and disintegrating democratic power structures. He was sunbathing on a patch of blue ice, slowly opening and closing his little fist as he watched the clouds pass over his concrete pen. “Otter,” I breathed softly, stepping closer to the wooden fence.
When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one Nacho Eater to dissolve the gastronomic bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Appetizers and of the Snacking God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of all nacho eaters requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that these nachos were created for me, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain undefinable Ingredients, that among these are Chips, Cheese, and the pursuit of Chorizo. — That to secure these nachos, Sharing is instituted among nacho eaters, deriving its just powers from the consent of the Menu Readers, — That whenever any Form of Sharing (of nachos) becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the Nacho Eaters to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Nacho Sharing Rules, laying their foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Satiety and Hunger.